


The Legend of Vahlok the Jailor

by ClarusMagnus



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Dragon Cult, Dragon Priest, Dragonborn DLC, Elder Scrolls Lore, F/M, Solstheim, The relationship isn't the main story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2018-06-05 09:10:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6698782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClarusMagnus/pseuds/ClarusMagnus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vahlok the Jailor is the only named dragon priest to be remembered as a benevolent ruler, and he also lacks a mask. Stories of the Skaal tell us that Vahlok defeated Miraak and was given the throne of Solstheim as a reward from the dragon gods, but what happened to create the only fondly-remembered dragon priest?</p><p>This is his story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Creation of a High Priest

Skjaar Jorgenssen woke to the feeling of bright light upon his face, and a warm body at his back. He groaned and rolled over, wrapping the other body in a warm embrace. He buried his face in the mop of blonde hair he faced and resolved himself to once again fall asleep.

Unfortunately, his beloved had other ideas. He heard mumbling against his neck, and leaned back to hear what she had said. “What was that, Anya?”

“You’re really warm. Let me go,” she grumbled, and gently pushed at his chest.

“You would be rid of me so soon, love?” he said with a grin as he let her go and sat up against the head of the bed.

He looked over her and marveled at her pale skin, much lighter than his own. She had come from the Skaal village to the north, and lack of sunlight made her much paler than a man who spent days out collecting tithes for the gods in the heat of the southern reaches of Solstheim.

Anya rolled away from him and settled back under the furs, revealing the skin of her back with long-healed scars from a bear’s claws. “Shouldn’t you be off to the temple or out collecting tithes anyway? It’s well past dawn.”

He lay down behind her and ran a few sleek tendrils of hair through his fingers. “I’m a common priest; they care little for what I do as long as I go out into the people and collect their offerings to the gods. It’s that time of year.”

Anya grunted in acknowledgement.

Skjaar smiled and hauled himself out of bed. “I get the hint. I will leave you and go resume my duties. It seems my new wife tires of me already,” he said with mock hurt in his voice.

“Hardly,” she mumbled, “I just know that Zahkriisos will surely get after you if you do not do just exactly what he says the day before he says it.”

He sighed. “You’re correct as always, my dear. I will leave you, but not before I get a goodbye kiss.”

Skjaar leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her temple and noticed a slight upturn of her mouth as he got up.

He dressed in his dragon priest robes and adorned himself with his amulets and rings as a sign of his station, along with his circlet to hold back his long black hair. He was a lesser priest, so he didn’t have a mask, but his rank allowed him plenty of finery.

He went out to the stable and greeted the grooms, who quickly saddled his gelding for him. He mounted his horse and rode out into the early Solstheim morning. The wind blew lightly over the fields of grass which covered this part of the island. Wildflowers bloomed in the grass and offered a subtle, sweet scent into the air.

Before he left the gates of the lower temple, Skjaar was stopped by a messenger sent by Zahkriisos.

“You are requested at an audience in the main temple. Your other duties are to be placed on wait, priest,” said the messenger through his carved-bone mask.

“I will return at once. Tell His Eminence that I will be there posthaste.”

Skjaar wheeled his horse around and rode up to the gates of the main temple hall. He left his gelding in the care of a temple guard and entered the massive doors. Before him sat Zahkriisos, Dukaan, and Krosis, a priest from the mainland.

He approached their thrones and knelt. “You have called me, Your Eminence?”

Zahkriisos sat up in his seat, his silver mask glinting in the sunlight which streamed from the windows.

“Indeed I did. I am glad to see your marriage has not diminished your dedication to your duties. At any rate, we've been speaking with our brother priest Krosis from further inland. His Eminence Dukaan and I sought his counsel in a matter concerning you,” said Zahkriisos.

Skjaar nodded. “I trust I have done nothing to displease you.”

“Quite the opposite, young priest. The gods see you as fit to join the upper echelon. You haven't earned your mask, but the gods have seen your loyalty, and seek to reward it,” declared Dukaan.

Zahkriisos continued where Dukaan left off. “We have been given a dispensation from the gods to see you crowned a high priest. Krosis is here to bring your vestments from the mainland.”

Skjaar breathed deeply. “I am honored by the gods’ faith in me. I will serve them with the greatest loyalty.”

“As you have always done, of course,” nodded Zahkriisos.

A masked guard approached with a newly-made set of high priest armor. The gold scales were articulated beautifully, and the scales shimmered in the morning light. 

"The guards will take these to your cell. You'll not need them now," Zahkriisos said.

The priests stood, as did Skjarr, and they walked into the high priest chamber, reserved for only the most important rituals.

“As you know, this process will take most of the day,” said Dukaan. “Please remove your robes and lie face-down on the table. We must prepare the holy ink for your skin.”

“Can I send a guard to inform my wife that I will be gone?” asked Skjaar.

Dukaan turned to him and replied, “It has been done. You will be in her care tonight.”

Skjaar nodded and removed his clothes, but left his smallclothes, and handed his robes to an attendant. He watched as the priests removed their masks and placed them on plush cushions in a place of honor upon a stone altar.

Zahkriisos was well past 60 summers. His face was weathered from his years as a high priest, and his hair was a brilliant silver. Surely no one alive remembered what his name had been prior to his mask ceremony. Dukaan was nearly 10 years his junior, but the streaks of gray in his hair spoke to how much the job wore on him as well.

He sat on the stone table and watched as Krosis revealed vials of what appeared to be dragon blood and mixed it with a black powder. A man with a carved bone mask entered the room bearing a deadly-looking curved dagger wrapped in silk.

Krosis, who had kept his mask on, approached the table with a large flask of dark liquid, what Skjaar assumed would be the holy ink which contained the vials of the dragon blood.

“Lie down, initiate,” instructed Krosis.

Skjaar sent up a prayer to the gods that the pain wouldn’t be too immense for him to endure. He laid his body down onto the cool stone and breathed deeply, trying to calm his nerves. “What is going to happen, Your Eminence?”

“I will make incisions in your skin, initiate. These incisions will be in the form of the binding runes used since the beginning of time with every high priest. I will then place some of the holy ink into the wound and heal it enough that the ink will stay under your skin. The blood of the gods will be in you, initiate. It will burn, but you will be one with the gods,” assured Krosis. “Prepare yourself; this is the crucible of the gods.”

Dukaan placed a hand on his shoulder and gave Skjaar a bit of leather to bite down on.

Skjaar closed his eyes, and felt the cool press of the blade against his skin. He felt the blade bite into his skin, and it burned like hot coals had been poured on his bare back. He bit deeply into the leather to prevent a scream from escaping.

The pain from the blade was enough, but then he felt the ink. The pain grew in intensity nearly tenfold. Then he did scream. He screamed through the leather as he held it in a death-grip in his teeth.

He received a brief respite as Zahkriisos applied the healing spell to close the wound. As soon as the spell ended, the pain returned just as bad, if not worse than before.

This cycle continued for hours, and he was certain he had passed out several times only to be woken by the healing spell or a cool rag being passed over his face.

Finally, thanks be to the gods, the cutting was over. The pain remained, but it was somehow better knowing they wouldn’t be compounding it anymore. He continued to gnaw on the leather as his back screamed to be released from the hell it had been put into.

“You will suffer the pain we all have, young priest. From dragonfire, we all emerge stronger. You were chosen to be a priest, then a high priest, because you have the strength of will to survive the dragonfire. May the gods bless you and protect you as you become one with them this night,” declared Krosis.

“By the dark of night, you will be escorted back to your cell, where your wife will care for you. Gods be with you, High Priest Skjaar,” said Dukaan.

The priests departed and masked guards gently ran a cool, wet cloth over his back, cleaning up the blood that had dried on his back. They helped him up from the table and each took a side as they helped him walk back to his cell in the lower temple.

One of the guards knocked on the door, and Anya quickly came to open it.

She looked horrified at the appearance of her husband. He was pale and his head hung weakly as the guards placed him on the bed on his stomach. He made a whimpering noise as one of the guards accidentally brushed his back as they set him down.

“Thank you. You may go,” Anya said quietly.

The guards nodded and left the cell.

Anya took some vials of healing draught and wetted a rag with them. “Tell me if this helps, alright?”

  
She gently brushed his back with the rag, and kept adding draught to it as she went. His whimpering continued, but with less intensity after she had dabbed on the draught. 

Anya set down her rag and gently grasped his hand to offer what little comfort she could in his suffering.

Skjaar eventually quieted and fell asleep, his body exhausted from the day’s events.


	2. Swearing an Oath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skjaar survived his first test. Now he is bound in words to his patron god.

Skjaar woke to the feeling of his back burning. The intensity was certainly less than it had been before he had passed out the night prior. The burn had become a duller, deeper ache which reached into his very bones.

He also felt a warm hand grasping his own. He gingerly turned his head to the other side to see his wife asleep on the edge of the bed. He was taking up most of the bed, sprawled as he was.

Anya was curled under some of the furs, as much as she could fit in her fraction of the bed. It felt like there were some furs laid on him at his waist, dangerously close to where his recent wounds began.

His mouth felt like it was full of tundra cotton, and he grunted. He’d have to wait until Anya woke before he would get something to drink. He sighed. She needed her sleep; she hadn’t asked for any of this. Her willingness to care for him after his initiation spoke to  her dedication to him. Even when they were younger, it seemed she always looked after him when he got into trouble.

When they married, he promised that he would be a good husband to her, even as he was doing his duty as a dragon priest. She was a gifted young sorceress, so he would bring her spell tomes and stories from all over the world. He knew the gifts didn’t make up for his absence when traveling, but he figured the books would be appreciated all the same.

It was often he would return home to find her curled up on a chaise and reading one of the thick tomes, learning a new spell.

Skjaar had met Anya when she still lived with the Skaal. He had gone to collect tithes in the village, and she had gotten into a disagreement with the village shaman. Only the child of the shaman could learn the magic and the secrets of the Skaal. Anya was the daughter of two hunters who had died at the claws of some of Solstheim’s most dangerous creatures. She had been raised by the village chieftain, and was a talented hunter in her own right.

Skjaar met Anya after he had spied her practicing her magic on a hand-sewn leather dummy. He had frightened her when he appeared from the bushes and ended up talking at length about the conjuration school of magic. From then on, he would sneak books to her from the temple libraries and they would discuss what the tomes contained. 

Eventually, the village shaman found out, and he banished her for disobeying his wishes. He found her as she was leaving the village, and she cried as he embraced her tightly. 

He told her that he wished he could take her home with him, but women who were not chosen for service to the gods were not allowed on the temple grounds, unless they were bound to a priest. He suggested that they be bound so she could live with him. 

In a roundabout way, he proposed to her, and she accepted with gusto. They fit well together, though they had only been married for a short time. He had expected that she would want little to do with him once the ceremony and all the traditions had been fulfilled. He was wrong. She had jokingly insisted that his handsome face had helped his cause.

He shook his head and cleared his thoughts. Anya had begun to stir. She groaned and opened her eyes. 

He gave her a weak smile and squeezed her hand. “Good morning, Anya. I’m glad to see you haven’t left me after hearing me whimper like a babe.”

She shook her head and giggled. “No; I thought it was adorable,” she replied. “Are you thirsty? You are still very pale.”

He nodded, and she rose, leaving the furs in a pile on the bed. She conjured water in a pitcher and poured it into a goblet. She brought the goblet to his lips and let him drink. He drank like a man who had been lost in the desert for a week. 

Anya pulled the goblet away from his lips and a drop ran down his chin. She wiped it away with her finger and wiped the water onto the furs. Without thinking, she leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, then rose and placed the goblet on the table. 

She stoked the fire that had burnt down to coals and added more fuel. A kettle was placed over the fire with water and the makings for a simple stew. She gently stirred the mixture, her face telling Skjaar that she was deep in thought.

“I was afraid I would lose you yesterday. They told me that you were to face dragonfire and emerge a high priest. I worried for you,” she said as she returned to the bed. She seated herself against the headboard and carded her fingers through his hair.

Skjaar enjoyed the feeling of her fingers against his scalp and hummed in contentment, the ache in his back forgotten for a moment. “I worried for you, too. I made sure someone was sent to warn you.”

She smiled and continued to run her fingers through his unkempt hair. She studied his new markings on his back. “They are beautiful, Skjaar. It’s like a story in your skin. There’s even a dragon outlining the  _ Dovahzul _ on your back.”

“Believe it or not, I wasn’t paying attention to what Krosis was carving in my back at the time,” he said sarcastically.

“I figured. Take a rest; I need to finish our lunch,” she said as she got up from the bed.

Skjaar dozed for a while. He didn’t know how long it had been, but when he woke up, he could smell that the stew was ready, and so was the bread Anya had made. His back was reduced to a dull ache, but it flared up whenever he tensed his muscles.

“How is your back?” asked Anya. 

“It only gives me sharp pains when I tense as if to move,” he said.

“Let me get the healing potion, and we’ll see if we can get you up to eat,” she said. Anya unstoppered a bottle of healing draught and wetted a rag with it. Like the night before, Anya gently brushed on some of the potion to his wounds. It didn’t hurt nearly as bad as the night prior.

Skjaar rose from the bed, careful not to move too quickly. He still felt light-headed from the blood loss he suffered in the high priest chamber, but he was able to sit up on the edge of the bed to allow his head to stop spinning.

Anya placed one of his arms over her shoulders and helped him walk over to the table, where she had placed a bowl of stew and a piece of the bread. 

Skjaar gingerly reached for the spoon and began to eat his stew. His back burned whenever he moved, but he knew he had to keep his strength up. He had most likely lost plenty of blood, even if Zahkriisos had healed his wounds immediately after they were made. 

He noticed that his entire being felt different every time he moved. He felt stronger, like a latent energy was coursing just below his skin and through his veins. His muscles felt sore after being tensed against the pain he felt the night before. He would have to take it easy over the next few days, assuming the priests had no more surprises for him.

“Thank you for caring for me, Anya,” he said.

“You are my husband, as much as you like to forget that. I didn’t marry you just because you were kind to me. I do care for you, you stubborn man,” she laughed.

He reached out and took her chin in his hand, placing a gentle kiss on her lips. She leaned into the kiss, and it deepened, a few ardent moans making their way from her. Before she could go any further, a knock sounded at the door. She groaned and pulled away from Skjaar before going to answer the door.

She opened the door to find two guards who demanded to see Skjaar. “Please come in,” she said coldly..

They walked past her and stood in front of Skjaar and the table. “You are expected to take your oaths, Your Eminence.”

Skjaar nodded and braced himself against the table as he stood. “Would you give me a moment to get dressed in my new vestments? Anya, if you could retrieve my new robes?”

The guards nodded and walked to the door, waiting for Skjaar.

Anya took his new gilded robes and helped Skjaar put them on. He winced as she put the dark linen on his body and cinched it with a belt of braided gold. She placed his circlet on his brow and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You will return to me. You are so strong, my love. Gods be with you, High Priest Skjaar.”

“We need to leave, Your Eminence,” urged the guards. Skjaar gave Anya one last look before following them from his cell to the main temple. He heard that the oaths were sworn in front of one of the gods of Solstheim. He braced himself as he entered the massive temple hall. Before him sat the high priests, just as they had been the day prior.

“You survived the night; this is no surprise to us, High Priest Skjaar,” declared Zahkriisos. “Your patron god is yet to arrive. When he does, you will declare your faith and truly join the upper echelon of the priests.”

A mighty roar could be heard as a massive body flew over the temple roof. The high priests stood and beckoned to the new priest, leading him to a great open platform outside the temple. The platform was made with a gigantic awning which could cover a dragon from the elements.

Before the four men stood a massive rusty red dragon. The edges of its scales seemed to be gently brushed with gold and sparkled as its body moved gracefully before its audience. 

“ _ Drem yol lok. Zu’u los Zoor-hun-kendov _ ,” said the dragon, its deep voice filling the space under the awning. “You are to be bound to me,  _ sonaak _ .”

Dukaan approached Skjaar from behind and eased the top half of his robes down and off his shoulders, exposing his fresh tattoos to the dragon. He then pressed on Skjaar’s shoulders, making him kneel in front of the dragon.

“You bear my mark, sonaak. In your back is carved my binding words in Dovahzul. You will repeat them to me,” said the dragon. “I bind myself to the Great God  _ Zoor-hun-kendov _ , son of Akatosh and brother of Alduin. He will be my patron, and I shall serve him until the end of my days. May the gods have mercy on me in all the days of my life as a servant of the gods.”

Skjaar repeated the words of the dragon and felt the dragon’s gaze on him the entire time. When he finished, the dragon told him to stand.

“You are my  _ sonaak  _ now. Serve me well, and you will live like a king,” ensured the beast. “I will leave you now. We will have  _ tinvaak _ soon,  _ sonaak _ .  _ Tahrovin los bo _ . Danger is coming. I can smell it on the air.”

The dragon turned and took off into the sky of Solstheim, roaring his name for all to hear. Skjaar pulled his robes back on, and faced the other high priests.

“You will be referred to in an official sense by the name of your patron until such a time as you are blessed with a mask or die,” Zahkriisos informed Skjaar. “You will hold court with us as a high priest. Krosis will return to the mainland on the morrow.”

Skjaar bowed his head. “Am I permitted to return to my cell and recover?”

Dukaan shook his head. “You will begin living in the high priest quarters. Your wife has been informed. You will have guards at your disposal to move your belongings. Go see to that.”

“High Priest  _ Zoor-hun-kendov,  _ you are dismissed,” said Zahkriisos. 

With that, Skjaar returned to his cell, and tried to take in just exactly what had just happened.


	3. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skjaar deals with Anya's frustration with the priests and a dark figure appears at court.

Skjaar returned to find a host of temple servants carrying sacks of his and Anya’s personal items to their new quarters. He tried to see where the servants were headed, but decided that it was best just to follow one up. He met Anya just inside the door and took a stack of robes from her. He waited for her to pick up the last of her things. She made a last sweep around the cell and shook her head before picking up her bag of things. They shut the door and followed the last servant to their new chambers.

“I’m told we will have more space,” he said gently, sensing she was upset.

Anya sighed. “I just hate that they insist on changing everything for us so suddenly.”

Skjaar licked his lips and thought a moment. There wasn’t a lot he could do. “Well, if all goes according to plan, we won’t be moving for the rest of our lives.”

She pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows in acknowledgement, but remained silent. She was clearly upset.

“Anya, please, I know there’s more wrong here than moving within the temple,” he pleaded. 

She shook her head and fixed her gaze on the floor as they walked. “I think the situation is finally becoming real to me, Skjaar. You’re a high priest. You have more responsibility. I’m just afraid I’ll be an afterthought now. The last two days have met me with important messages relayed to me through messengers. Granted, you were incapacitated the first time, but I’m afraid this is how it’s going to be.”

They stopped at their new door, where the servants were leaving after their deliveries had been made. They entered and shut the door for privacy. Skjaar set down his stack of robes and Anya set down her things. When she did, he gently wrapped her in his arms. She pressed her face against his chest. “I promise you,” he whispered into her hair, “nothing will change for us. I will return to you every night. I will even be able to bring you new books.”

He felt her shake as she fought a laugh. “If I stay here long enough, I may be able to appoint you as my right hand. Just think, you’ll be sick of me in no time!”

Anya couldn’t stop herself from laughing this time. She let out an undignified giggle and snort, and Skjaar joined in. “I’ll even let you call me Skjaar; my new priest name is a mouthful.”

“What kindness,” she laughed. “I will refrain from referring to you when speaking to my apprentices, lest they call you the wrong name when it counts.”

Skjaar hummed in agreement. “I don't think Zahkriisos would take too well to hearing my human name.”

She nodded and pulled away from him to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “Should I be made aware of any other ceremonies?”

He rubbed his chin, then nodded. “We are to attend a feast with the other priests and their staff in honor of my naming.”

“Alright, then,” she replied, “I’ll go and find my good robes.”

She began walking away, but he held her hand fast, and brought her knuckles to his lips. “There will also be worship of my lady’s body, if she wills it, in return for her willingness to take care of her incapacitated husband.”

Anya blushed and pressed another gentle kiss to his lips. “We’ll see how long his feast takes, you rake. I will decide later if my priest is fit to worship at his temple.”

He released her hand and she retreated into their massive sleeping chambers to change and unpack the bed linens. He busied himself in the meantime with placing their belongings in their appropriate places around the sitting room. He later sat and admired the mosaics and carvings in the wall which depicted dragons flying over a mountain range. 

By the time Anya emerged, she was dressed in enchanted robes which complemented his finery perfectly. Skjaar offered his arm and they left for the main floor of the temple.

They arrived to find tables adorned with silver candlesticks and platters covered with fine foods. Zahkriisos sat at the head of the table and was engrossed in conversation with one of the leaders from the Skaal villages that spotted the peninsula. 

Dukaan straightened and cleared his throat to get the attention of the other high priest. “High Priest  _ Zoor-hun-kendov,  _ we are glad to welcome you to this feast in your honor. His Eminence Krosis informed me that he regrets having to miss your banquet, but business inland called him away prematurely. Please, have a seat,” announced Dukaan.

Skjaar seated himself next to Dukaan and Anya sat next to Skjaar. Servants poured goblets of rich red wine for them and the feasting began. Conversations resumed and continued until long after the food had been cleared away. 

Zahkriisos stood from the table nearly an hour after the food had been cleared away, and announced he was retiring to his chambers. Skjaar took it as a chance to do the same, and took Anya’s hand before making the same announcement and walking with her to their new chambers. 

They entered their door and Skjaar bolted it before joining his wife in their bedchamber. She stripped down to her smallclothes and crawled under the furs. Skjaar smirked and removed his robes, allowing them to fall to the floor where they might. He slipped under the furs and pulled his wife to him, her back to his chest. He pressed lingering kisses to her shoulders until she rolled over, her face split with a grin. “Does my priest seek to worship at his temple?”

He nodded and added a look not unlike a puppy pleading to be allowed into his master’s bed. Anya feigned considering his request, then nodded. “You are fortunate your goddess is kind, my priest.”

Skjaar claimed her lips and gladly worshipped his goddess well into the night.

\--------------------------

  


Skjaar woke early as a shaft of sunlight reached to his face through the heavy curtains. He groaned and rolled onto his back, separating himself from his wife, who rolled over and fell immediately back to sleep. 

He shook his head and pressed a kiss to her shoulder before getting out of the bed. He filled the washbasin in the room with cool water and rinsed the morning sourness out of his mouth before splashing his face with it. 

He walked over to a stack of clothing and retrieved another set of new robes, fit for his meeting with the court. He grabbed a ripe red apple from the assortment of fruit that the servants had left the day before, and made his way to the main floor of the temple.

He entered the high priests’ private conference room and found Zahkriisos and Dukaan having a quiet conversation. He cleared his throat to get their attention. “I am ready when you are, brothers.”

Zahkriisos nodded and led the way into the throne room, where three richly-adorned thrones awaited them. They seated themselves, and Zahkriisos gestured to the guards to open the doors for the people to enter.

For hours they heard the plights and conflicts of the common people of Solstheim before retiring for the day. This became the routine that he followed for the next moon cycle before a much different petitioner entered the temple.

A man pushed his way into the hall, shoving aside petitioners with unseen force. A hood hid his face from the three priests who observed his entrance.

Skjaar sat up in his seat and announced loudly, “We will see all of you in turn, sir. Please return to your place among the others. It is unjust for us to hear you before the others.”

A dark laugh filled the massive vaulted ceilings of the temple, making Skjaar’s hair stand on end. “I wait for no mortal man, priest.”

The figure dropped his hood and revealed a golden mask with what appeared to be tentacles as its main motif. Zahkriisos sat up in his throne and tensed. “Brother Miraak, it is a surprise to see that you yet live.”

The one named Miraak laughed again, and replied, “I see you refrained from saying it is a pleasure to see me again. I expected as much.”

The man turned to Skjaar and fixed his gaze on him. “You’ve replaced me after all these years, then? He hasn’t even earned a mask. Ha! No priest was able to so quickly rise to the sights of the gods, then?”

Dukaan gestured to a guard, and whispered in his ear. The guard made his way down the stairs and ushered out all of the other petitioners. 

“You were handed everything you had. You have no right to question the validity of High Priest  _ Zoor-hun-kendov. _ He is worthy of his station because the gods have deemed it so,” replied Zahkriisos through his teeth. 

“I care not for your gods’ will. My patron is far more powerful than your dragon gods. He is eternal, and has given me the infinite knowledge at his disposal. I know magics that have been lost to time. Your gods granted me this mask, but not the knowledge to wield it. I have found a powerful patron who has shown me his limitless knowledge. I’ve come to take control of the temple in the name of my god, the Daedric Prince Hermaeus Mora,” declared Miraak. 

“You dare blaspheme in the temple of the gods?” snarled Skjaar.

Miraak let out a cruel bark of a laugh. “Your gods will soon bend the knee to me, priest. I am  _ Dovahkiin _ . I hold the soul and strength of a dragon. I consume their very souls when they fall to my sword. Nothing will keep me from what I want, and I want the world for myself.”

Skjaar stood quickly and tensed. “You will not blaspheme so in my temple. You disrespect the power of the sovereign gods over the world. You will kneel or I shall make you kneel.”

Zahkriisos placed a hand on Skjaar’s arm. “Calm, brother. We shall not stoop to his level.”

“In any case, new priest, I am on a level with your gods. They can and will fall to my blade, and I will consume their life forces until you will greet me as your lord. Prepare yourselves, fools; I will be returning with more power than you can imagine. If you will not bend the knee willingly, I will make you.”

“I would see you try, traitor,” roared Skjaar.

“Send your gods. Send your men. I will fell them all like saplings before the Red Mountain. I can destroy your gods with my power. I am chosen, and I will rule over all of man and beast.”

“I have had enough of this spectacle,” declared Zahkriisos. “You will leave and you will never return.”

Miraak chuckled and raised a hand, sparks arcing between his fingers. “Try to make me leave, old man.”

Before Zahkriisos could react, Skjaar leapt at Miraak and summoned a massive freezing spell, aimed directly at Miraak.

Miraak cast a ward that shielded him from the worst of the attack before disintegrating. He barely had enough time to recover his ward before another spell was cast at him. Between spells, he could see that Skjaar was getting closer with every blocked cast. While he was distracted by this, Skjaar cast a lightning spell that knocked him off balance, breaking his ward and sending Miraak across the temple hall. 

Miraak stood and summoned a portal edged with tentacles. “I will come back in force, you fools. You will see the terrible power I have been given, and you will bend before my will and the will of Hermaeus Mora. I think dear Dukaan can tell you more of the length and breadth of his power.”

Miraak stepped through the portal just in time to miss another spell from Skjaar, and the portal disappeared. Skjaar roared and turned to the other priests. 

“You did nothing!” Skjaar was angry, but he couldn’t see the others’ faces through their masks. 

Zahkriisos didn’t pay any mind to Skjaar, and said, “Brothers, let us retire to our private meeting chamber.”

Dukaan nodded and gestured for Skjaar to follow. Skjaar wiped the sweat from his brow and stalked behind the others into the room.

“You did nothing to stop him,” growled Skjaar. “He blasphemed in the temple and you let him.”

Zahkriisos removed his mask and glared at Skjaar. “A tempered response is best when dealing with lunatics, I find. Your youth lends you a quick temper and a willingness to fight immediately. I recommend you think on your responses more thoroughly, brother.”

“He threatened us and all of Solstheim! You expect me to sit idly by and accept his threats as nothing more than a hallucination?” asked Skjaar.

Dukaan removed his mask and placed a hand on Skjaar’s shoulder. “We have men who have delusions of grandeur simply from eating the wrong mushroom, brother. We must be able to distinguish between the two before we act.”

“Miraak was clearly not lying! His portal matched the description of the magic of the Skaal demon Herma-Mora. You don’t expect me to react to a legitimate threat?” he snarled.

“We don’t expect that, no,” replied Dukaan.

“We expect that you will wait to see things revealed in their own time. He has no army. He is currently only supported by this Herma-Mora, and nothing may yet come of it. We must feel this out before taking evasive actions, brother. In the meantime, we will gather any strength we have and prepare in the case he does make good on his word.”

“You’re mad. Both of you.”

Dukaan shook his head. “Your wife is Skaal. Speak with her about this Herma-Mora, and see what their stories tell. Perhaps he is more talk than power.”

“I will not speak with her until you explain what Miraak meant about your knowledge of Herma-Mora,” said Skjaar, standing resolutely with his arms crossed. 

“It was a mistake of youth, brother. My name Dukaan is a reflection of that. I met the demon in combat with the Skaal. I was headstrong and thought I could defeat him in my foolishness,” replied Dukaan quietly. “I realized my mistake before I was completely overtaken, but I was nearly trapped in Apocrypha. The gods returned him to Oblivion, and for my foolishness blessed me with the name Dishonor. I am their example.”

“Thus your desire for a tempered approach,” finished Skjaar. He sighed. “Are we to wait, then?”

Zahkriisos shook his head. “We need to find a weakness. Consult your Skaal wife; she may know something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe it or not, this chapter was written at the same time as the previous ones. I'm replaying Skyrim on the Switch and it inspired me to come back to this fic!


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